


Song of Solomon 5:6

by JotaroVapes (radioaction)



Series: Ferdibert Week [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love Letters, M/M, Posthumous Love Confessions, Tender Dream Sequence, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioaction/pseuds/JotaroVapes
Summary: They were letters, nearly a hundred of them. The envelopes had started to brown with age,  the stack wrapped tightly in twine. Each of them was still sealed in red wax that had started to chip.---Upon the Minister's death, Ferdinand finds undelivered letters that Hubert has penned over the years. All addressed to him.Written for the Ferdibert2020 prompt "secrets" and "confessions", and "brush with death".
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Ferdibert Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871761
Comments: 26
Kudos: 102
Collections: Ferdibert Week 2020





	Song of Solomon 5:6

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is tragic, and it may be a lot for some people. Read at your own discretion. 
> 
> It does, however, have a happy ending. Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929607/chapters/63022990
> 
> It covers the prompts: hurt/comfort, nightmares, memory loss, moonlight, and AU.
> 
> For added sorrow, I recommend listening to either Joshua Radin's song "What if You" or "Muscle Memory" by lights (acoustic version) as you read. 
> 
> _Italics_ means it is written in a letter. **Bold** means it took place in the past.

\---

It had been three weeks since the passing of Hubert von Vestra. That reality had been a very tough pill to swallow. As Ferdinand walked alone in these castle halls he still expected to see a familiar shadow pass over him, to hear a smoke-like voice tickle the shell of his ear. Things he had taken for granted, small moments that would never happen again. 

The path he walked now had been tread many times before. As he rounded the corner he saw the looming door of the Minister's bedchamber - always closed. Always locked. 

Ferdinand held the key against his chest, his eyes fixed on the door handle. For a moment he waited - He waited for the lock to click from the other side. The door would open just a crack, and he would explain his intrusion before being permitted entry. Perhaps if he waited just a little longer... 

The Prime Minister released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. With no more excuses to prolong the inevitable, he inserted the heavy iron key into its lock and turned. 

Inside the room was very much the same as it had always been. Sparse decoration, tall bookcases with titles Ferdinand didn’t recognize and some he could hardly pronounce. Because of the nature of Hubert’s work as an agent of shadow, he also had several weapons displayed on the walls. In the past, he had begged the man to let him just hold one of his daggers, but each request was firmly denied. 

There was no one to stop him now. Ferdinand reached, his hand hovering over a beautiful kris dagger. He counted the curves of its distinct wavy blade and smiled to himself. Of course, it would end in 13. Very typical of Huberty to take advantage of superstition in his armory. 

He saw the warped reflection of his face in the metal. Had he always been so pale? 

Ferdinand traced the designs carved into the kris's handle with his fingertips. Satisfied, he returned the weapon to its mount on the wall. 

The enormous desk that sat just in front of the room's lone window drew his attention. There had been many nights when he would look up from the street below and see the candlelight in that window as Hubert spent another sleepless night pouring over his work like a man possessed. A candlestick sat upon the desk; black wax had dripped down its length and pooled on the wood below. 

Hubert had left other personal effects strewn across the desk: a leather-bound ledger, bottles of ink and black feather quills. A silver letter opener rested atop a small wooden box, that held sealing wax and of course, Hubert’s custom seal. The dust had already begun to settle over all of these things. 

What had brought him to this room was a letter, stamped with that same seal and bright wax. It had been delivered to Ferdinand soon after the fact, by a woman in black who kept her face hidden and her eyes down. As soon as he had accepted it, she was gone without a trace. 

He retrieved the envelope from his breast pocket and laid it on the table, still sealed. It was all he could do to ignore the directions meticulously written on the letters face;

~~~ _To be opened only when seated at the desk of Hubert von Vestra_ ~~~

Though he had been so eager to open the envelope on his journey back to the capital, now he felt apprehensive. So many questions filled his mind. What could be waiting for him within the letter’s contents? Why did he have to be here, in this room? 

Why was this delivered to him, and not to Edelgard? 

There would be no answers unless he took the plunge. 

With trembling hands he slid the blade of the letter opener under the wax and felt it give. Inside it held a few sheets of parchment, and as he removed them there was a sound of metal against wood. A small brass key had fallen from the pages.

In hopes for an explanation, he carefully unfolded the letter and smoothed out the creases. There he saw his own name scrawled in ink. 

~~~

_Ferdinand,_

_There comes a time in a man's life when he must prepare for the worst. That means leaving a will, a document to divide his assets and delegate his funds to the people fit to inherit them. I have no such will drafted - not in the typical sense. For the most part, my possessions have always belonged to our Emperor. In the event she is not able to receive them, then my inheritance doesn’t matter anyway. You could throw it all into the sea if you wished._

_Except for this desk. Or rather, its contents. This I designate to you, Ferdinand, and you alone._

_Take the key within this envelope - under the desk there is a lock hidden under a removable panel. What lies inside is yours._

_Hubert_

~~~

Ferdinand read the words over and over again. His chest felt tight. 

Quickly he pushed the desk chair back as far as it could go and crawled underneath the desk. As he smoothed his hands across its underside, he racked his brain for an idea of what could be waiting for him inside. It really was anyone’s guess - was it a map? A journal? Human remains? Perhaps a trap set to be triggered by a turn of the key.

No, of course, Hubert wouldn't do that to him. Not after everything they had been through. After years of an admittedly shaky relationship, they had ended up quite close. To the point where people had come to call them the “Two Jewels” of Fodlan. When that nickname was brought to their attention he remembered how irritated Hubert had been. 

**“Such nonsense…” Hubert muttered under his breath once the countess that informed them of their unofficial title had left to mingle with the other guests. Standing beside him with a near-empty flute of champagne in his hand, Ferdinand couldn't help but laugh.**

**“Oh please, is it that unpleasant to be called a jewel? I imagine it is one of the kinder names that have been directed towards you.”**

**“It trivializes our positions. A jewel is just an overpriced ornament with no practical purpose other than to dazzle its audience.”**

**Suddenly Hubert reached over and plucked Fwerdinand’s drink from his hand. He knocked it back, smirking with satisfaction as he returned the empty glass. “But by all means, Ferdinand... be a jewel.”**

**With that he stalked away, leaving Ferdiand shocked and speechless.**

Ferdinand felt a groove under his fingertips. He pushed it up and slide the panel open, revealing the keyhole as promised. With bated breath he inserted the key, turning it until he heard a soft click. 

After peeking inside the compartment he reached in, blindly feeling around. 

“I swear if there is a snake in here..” He mumbled, a small, nervous smile on his face. 

Hubert would have laughed at that. 

When his hand fell on a rather large, rectangular object he sighed, feeling a bit relieved. After taking it out he gasped softly, realizing what he had found. 

They were letters, at least a hundred of them. Some of the envelopes had started to brown with age, a tall stack of them wrapped tightly in twine. Each of them was still sealed in red, chipped sealing wax.

Each of them had his name written across its face. 

To be sure he didn’t miss anything else, he reached back and thoroughly investigated the compartment and found nothing more. He crawled out from under the desk and pulled himself up into its chair, resting the letters on his lap. 

“What in the world, Hubert…” He whispered, scooting his seat closer to the desk. Once more he took the letter opener and with some effort, he finally heard the twine snap. The letters had dates marked in the corners, and as Ferdinand leafed through them he saw that the earliest one was penned nearly three years before.

The most recent was written just a month ago. It was also the only one that had something besides his name written on the front. 

~~~ _Read this last. - H_ ~~~

A weak laugh escaped him. Only Hubert would have the nerve to order him around even in death. Nevertheless, he did as he was told and set it aside before he began to read the rest - starting from the oldest. 

~~~

_Dear Ferdinand,_

_Last week you said to me that should I be in the mood to compliment you, you would appreciate that I deliver such sentiments in writing. You thought my praise to be, and I quote,_

_“Unsettling. Like hearing a snake sing an aria.”_

_So, I will take your advice. Here is to the hope that reading these words will leave you in a better disposition._

_Today you demonstrated an incredible amount of cunning during our game of chess. I had no idea that you would be capable of setting up such a victory without my taking notice. I must concede that you are not the worst chess player that I have played against, as I had previously stated to be the case many times before._

_There. Do with this letter what you will. However, should you bring it up to me in person I will deny its existence and no more letters will be written._

_Moderately impressed,_

_Hubert_

~~~

\---

Ferdinand turned the page over in his hand. While he vaguely remembered beating Hubert at chess a handful of times, he couldn’t quite recall the one described. It all seemed to blend together. Still, it was...sweet, to know that Hubert had thought so highly of him. It wasn’t clear why the letter was never delivered to him, but he figured it was a matter of personal pride. 

Perhaps he thought it unwise to give Ferdinand ammunition to throw back at him the next time he dared to criticize his chess-playing abilities. Which is what he would do, without question. 

Smiling, he folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope before moving on to the next. 

\---

The hours passed as Ferdinand read through the pages of domestic correspondence. Like the first, the first quarter of the letters were simply commendations. They ranged from the sincerely impressive, such as his strategy that won them a small but difficult battle against the Kingdom’s army, to the charmingly benign.

Some of the notes made him laugh. Evidently, there was a time when he had caught a teacup and its saucer before they shattered on the floor. This was apparently impressive enough to require documentation. 

By now he was sitting with his boots off, legs tucked up underneath him. To read these letters was cathartic. In each one he could hear Hubert’s voice as if he was speaking right to him. Ferdinand had not realized how much he needed this. Something of his dear friend to cling to, something real and not a memory. Many times he had to stop, overwhelmed with the emotions that spilled forth as each word ate away at his resolve. 

Had he mourned at all? Sure, he had been shocked. Everyone was. But had Ferdinand truly grieved?

When word came that the Minister’s carriage had been ambushed on its way back to Embarr, everyone assumed that somehow Hubert had escaped. Perhaps wounded, but alive. 

That assumption was proved to be woefully incorrect. Indeed, he had sustained wounds. But any chance of survival was impossible; the damage was just too severe.

Hubert must have known this. When it was over he must have known that there was no way he would make it. Why else would he have walked in the completely wrong direction, just to sit quietly under a tree in the wood. There were no leaves on its branches, and on that night the sky was so clear. Ferdinand hoped that in the end, Hubert had looked up and was able to see the stars. 

Pulling himself together, Ferdinand wiped the tears away and pushed forward. If it took all night, if it took a thousand nights, he would read until the end. 

\---

As they went on, the tone of Hubert’ words began to change. Perhaps it was the words he chose, or the slight hint of a tremble in his scrawl. The minute shift had started with a letter that was written just after they shared a particularly terrifying experience. Ferdinand remembered the day well, and even years later still there were times where it haunted his dreams.

It was during the battle on the Tailtean Plains. Ferdinand was fighting alongside Hubert as they tended to do, using each other's strength to cover their weaknesses. A storm had broke overhead and the heavy rain had left them vulnerable to surprise attacks. When a knight’s lance came barreling towards Hubert, Ferdinand had acted without thinking. He threw himself in front of its point and felt it pierce between the plates of his armor. The pain was so great that he had blacked out. 

When he came to, he was on his back, and he could hear someone talking though it was like they were underwater. Through his blurred vision, he saw a dark form above him, and as his sight cleared he could see it was Hubert, leaning over him with his glowing hand hovering over his chest. 

**“Stay with me, Ferdinand.” Hubert’s voice wavered. When Ferdinand tried to look down to see his condition, Hubert tangled his fingers in his hair and forced him to look at him face to face, “Eyes on me, von Aegir. I’ve got you.”**

**Fear had settled in his chest, and Ferdinand’s breath caught in his throat.**

**“I- I am dying?” he stupidly asked, his eyes wide in fear. It was like all of his nerves were alight as the pain tore through him. the scent of blood hung around them like a thick cloud. He felt sick. He was drowning in it.**

**A shrewd laugh forced its way from Hubert’s lips, and though he was smiling it didn’t reach his eyes. There he saw the same fear reflected back at him.**

**“Don’t start that nonsense. Tell me about your family dog, Ferdinand.”**

**“Dog?” Ferdinand parroted, his eyes feeling heavy. What was Hubert saying? He was so tired.**

**“Yes, your dog.” Hubert nodded, "You were always talking about her at the academy, about how you missed her. What was her name?”**

**A flash of lucidity crossed his face, and Ferdinand smiled. “You remembered that?”**

**“Her name, Ferdinand!” Hubert suddenly demanded, scowling down at him.**

**“Winnie,” The name came to Ferdinand, though he could not recall what she looked like. everything was so hazy, “Her name was Winnie!”**

**“Good, good.” Frustration drained from Hubert’s face and he smiled again, petting his hand through his soaked hair. Warmth bloomed through his chest, and he leaned into his touch. It felt so nice. His eyes closed for a moment.**

**He heard Hubert’s voice grow distant, panicked and desperate as he begged Ferdinand to keep his eyes open.**

Ferdinand was told that soon after he passed out a second time, reinforcements had arrived and several clerics came to his aid. When he woke again he was in the infirmary. The physician told him he was lucky to be alive. 

While Hubert did visit him during his recovery, he didn’t speak about what had happened at length. He called him a fool, of course, but other than that he gave no indication of wanting to discuss it. 

So when he came upon the letter written just a day after he almost died, Ferdinand was strangely afraid to read it. It was a moment of vulnerability for them both, and he didn’t want to know if Hubert resented him for being so careless with his own safety. 

But he had to press on. 

The writing was messy as if written with a very unsteady hand. 

~~~

_Ferdinand, you are an idiot._

_Do you realize that? The extent of your foolishness? In your effort to save my life you nearly ended your own. Thanks to you, I was forced to drag you away from the battlefield and spend valuable time healing you._

_What possessed you to jump in front of an oncoming lance? Was it just to spare me from injury?_

_While I am touched by the extent that you’d go to protect me, I would rather suffer a hundred spears than to have to watch in horror as you die in my arms from blood loss._

_I don’t ever want to see you like that ever again. My heart could not take that a second time._

_You have a shield, Ferdinand. Use it._

_Furious but relieved,_

_Hubert_

~~~

Ferdinand read over the letter again, his eyes drawing to certain words. Had he been that affected by it? The Hubert he spoke to after the fact was of course angry, but not to the extent portrayed in this letter. 

Something about the words he chose, about the way the ink had pooled just before the word “die” - as if the author had to hesitate before bringing himself to write it out. 

Ferdinand set the letter aside, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was starting to ache with a dull pain, and he wanted so badly to ask Hubert why he never said all of this out loud. Furthermore, if he wanted to keep a log of this information - a diary or a journal would be better suited for this. Instead, the man had taken the time to write, address, and stamp the letters only to lock them away. For what purpose?

Determined to find out, but sore from the position he had been holding, he carried the rest of the letters and moved to recline on the bed. As he examined the remaining letters he noticed there was a gap in the dates, a period of a few months where nothing was written. Curious, he read the last few letters that came before the strange hiatus. 

~~~

_Ferdinand,_

_It may come as a surprise to you to know that today I was kidnapped by Dorothea and her Majesty. They will tell you that I was not kidnapped - that I decided of my own volition to go with them. But trust me when I say that I had no interest in attending. While I would never accuse the Emperor of lying, I would suggest that her truth is not the truth. _

_Shopping is perhaps the worst waste of time one could invest themselves in. I am not talking about purchasing. Weapons, food, livestock - these things are purchased. When you need something, you have it in mind. You go to the store, exchange currency, and return with your goods. This is a necessity of life, and is practical._

_What is not practical is shopping that actually is just browsing. That is what I had to suffer through today - hours of walking around and just looking at things. They had no intention at all to actually buy anything. It is no exaggeration to say that I would rather weed an entire field than to take part in the activity again. At least at the end of the day, the field would be weeded._

_For all my suffering I am left with sore feet and a wasted day._

_However, I did come across something that might be of interest to you. When I was able to rest my legs, I found myself near a tea shop. While I have no interest in the stuff, based on your poor mood I suspected you may be running low on your monthly supply._

_Tomorrow I shall deliver a box to you. It was quite expensive, and the brand is one I have heard you mention on more than one occasion. Never say that I never did anything for you._

_Still sore,_

_Hubert_

~~~

Grinning ear to ear, Ferdinand laughed. So that was how he found that little tea shop. After the humorous exchanging of gifts that had happened over a year ago now, Hubert had invited him to go to that store on their rare days off. Ferdinand had wondered how the man had come across such a place - it was fairly small, a family business that didn't have the best location. Stubborn man that he was, Hubert refused to betray his source. 

To know that it was all because he had slinked away to rest his poor gangly limbs while on a shopping spree…. It was so endearing. The memory of those days made him feel warm. That warmth came with a bitter, nostalgic feeling. Tears welled in his eyes, but he willed them away. 

No more tears, not yet.

Snifflng, he opened the next letter, eager to read on just to see if Hubert had properly addressed his reaction to their impromptu gift exchange. As he unfolded the next letter, a couple of coffee beans fell onto the bed. Ferdinand softly exhaled, smiling sadly as he held them in his palm. 

“Hubert...You were surprisingly sentimental.” 

He slipped the beans into his pocket, feeling sentimental himself. Ferdinand turned over and held the letter over his head to read on. This one was different from the others before. This time there was no greeting, just a question. 

~~~

_How is it that every time I think I have you figured out, you still manage to surpass my expectations?_

_Whatever they do in Dagda to grow their coffee beans, it certainly works to their advantage. I am not as educated as you are on the proper ways to describe the appeal of drinks, but know that the coffee you gave me was delicious. It is a taste that I can rarely enjoy. For that, you have my thanks._

_However, there is something I have not been able to wrap my mind around._

_I asked if you had bought this coffee as a gift for someone. Then in an effort to goad you on, I asked you if it was for someone you fancied. Though it was a teasing question, it was still a second, separate question._

_In reply, you said something along the lines of, “Yes, a gift for you.”_

_At the time I was too taken aback to think much of the implications of this answer. I write this now just so I can put the question on paper - lest it haunts me for the rest of the night._

_When you said, “yes”, what question were you answering? Surely you could have said, “It is a gift for you, actually.” or, “Not anything like that, this is just a gift for you.”_

_That would confirm that it was for me, and not for someone you fancy. This would have been a clear confirmation, and I would be able to sleep if you had given it._

_However, instead you left the answer open to interpretation. Did you mean to do so, or am I a fool for over-analyzing words you have no doubt already forgotten._

_For tonight, I will dare to imagine you meant that this gift… this spontaneous and unbidden gift, was in fact intended for a person you admire._

_I will entertain a selfish delusion where the person that has caught your attention and Hubert von Vestra is in fact, one and the same._

_Slightly hopeful,_

_Hubert_

~~~

Those last sentences made Ferdinand's heart skip a beat. Disbelieving, he sat up straight and held the letter close to his face, carefully reading and re-reading the words until he had nearly memorized them. 

His stomach dropped. Ferdinand quickly found the next letter, examining the date. 

"No. No no no…" He knew the date well. Knowing what had happened just before it, Ferdinand realized why the letters had stopped. 

Ferdinand tore open the envelope, and upon reading the first line his fear was confirmed.

~~~

_Dear Ferdinand,_

_Congratulations on your engagement._

_That is what I had said, this morning when you happily broke the news to me over our morning tea and coffee. As you excitedly rambled on about your betrothed, someone whose name I did not know, I wondered if you could see the tremor in my hand as I raised the cup to my lips. Did you see my face pale? Or the sweat on my brow, that beaded as I struggled to keep from losing my composure._

_Perhaps this timing is fortuitous. No sooner had I come terms with my own feelings, you went ahead and fell in love. It would be better to remain, friends, after all. Love tends to complicate things, as you will no doubt come to know yourself._

_With this, it is no longer a possibility to lose your friendship due to unrequited confessions. There would be no awkward laughter or pitiable glances in my direction. Most importantly, you would never have to wonder if my words or my gifts were tainted by ulterior motives._

_To lose the trust that has taken so long to build between us, would be worse than being “rejected.”_

_To that end, I should stop writing these letters. They will only serve to make this harder than it needs to be._

_Your friend,_

_Hubert_

~~~

Tears fell upon the words, ink lifted from the page and dyed the droplets black. 

“I did not know, I didn’t…” His hand covered his mouth as a sob wrenched from his chest. How could he have known? 

What cruel fate, to discover that you are in love only for that powerful feeling to be snuffed out by the careless words of your best friend? Ferdinand bit the inside of his lip as he rocked in his seat, wishing to anyone, anything, that he could turn back the hands of time. 

If he had known, he would have called it off. Though he did grow to love his wife dearly, back then it was all so new. It was a decision made in envy, just a week after Edelgard announced her own engagement. Certainly, Hubert should have recognized that. To give up so quickly was not like him. Yet here he was, just now reading these words for the first time. 

Through his grief, Ferdinand he quickly opened the rest of the envelopes, pouring over their contents as sorrow continued to overwhelm him. He read Hubert’s words the day after the wedding, read each word that described how it tore him up inside to wish them a long and happy marriage. How he stood beside Ferdinand as he exchanged his vows with a woman he barely knew. 

There were letters that were just dreams, a dead man's words of longing and regret. With each page, Ferdinand felt his heart break. Feelings of loss, of mourning for a life that never was. A life where Hubert had the courage to say something. Anything, just enough to hint at this secret that tortured him for so long. 

He begged, and he pleaded for a god to bring him back. But there was no one to answer him. 

Surrounded by love letters strewn across the bed, Ferdinand held his head and wept. He twisted around and grabbed for something to smother his increasingly ugly sobs. As he pressed his face into the pillow that lay right above his head, he caught a hint of Hubert’s scent. Dagdan coffee, that smoky cologne that Ferdinand used to absolutely hate. Something else, something uniquely Hubert that could never be replicated. As he breathed it in, his cries died down. 

Exhausted and weak, Ferdinand closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

\---

\----

\-----

\-------

“Are you going to make your move soon, or should I go get a book to read while you make up your mind?” 

Ferdinand's eyes snapped open at the sound of Hubert’s low, mocking voice. The world seemed to sway as he blinked, the sudden light that surrounded them near blinding him. When his sight adjusted, he saw that he was sitting at a table, a chessboard in its center, and a game already in play. 

Across from him, leaning back in his chair with a coffee in hand, Hubert looked over at him expectantly. 

Without hesitation, Ferdinand stood and nearly fell over himself as he rounded the table and pulled Hubert to his feet. The coffee fell from his hand and the glass shattered on the pavilion floor. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand gasped, studying his friend, looking for any signs of injury. When he found none he held him tightly, his face pressed into the crook of his neck, “Hubert, you're here. You’re alive…” 

Despite his behavior there was no admonishing remark, or even an effort to return or reject Ferdinand's embrace. A chill ran through him. He turned his head and pressed his face against Hubert’s chest: There was silence. Emptiness. 

“No, no no…” Ferdinand whimpered, shaking his head. When he felt Hubert's hands comb through his hair, shuddered as tears threatened to spill once more. 

“Enough tears, Ferdinand.” Hubert chided, and Ferdinand gasped as he felt his lips against the top of his head. Even though he knew it wasn’t real - that it couldn’t possibly be real, Ferdinand was happy. He was terribly happy.

For a few moments Ferdinand let himself be held. Hubert was not warm, nor did he feel cold like corpses often are. He simply was. A brilliantly constructed imitation, one he had almost mistaken for the real thing. 

In fact, as they stood there together, he began to notice that how unusual the garden was It was a strange amalgamation of several places from Ferdinand's memory: his mother's garden, the academy’s greenhouse just off the path that led out of the pavilion from the royal garden. 

Hubert spoke again and oh, how Ferdinand wanted to capture that sound for eternity. 

“Now that you’ve settled down, I would appreciate it if you would let me go and take a seat”

“No.” His hands clenched, gripping at the back of Hubert's shirt. A frustrated groan rumbled in Hubert’s chest, and Ferdinand laughed weakly, then he pursed his lips, feeling anxious. In a small, barely audible voice, Ferdinand confessed his fear. “If I let you go, you might disappear.”

To that Hubert hummed, as if he was considering the possibility. After a moment of deliberation, Hubert sighed, then gestured to a lounge that was set just across from them. “If that is your fear, let us relocate. It would be rather awkward to continue our conversation this way, don’t you agree?” 

Ferdinand slowly looked up and gave Hubert a short nod. He released his shirt and quickly held Hubert’s hand. Hubert’s fingers intertwined with his, and Ferdinand felt his face flush as they walked together and took a seat on the lounge. 

They switched hands, his left knee knocking against Huberts right. Ferdinand was acutely aware that their shoulders were touching. Had he ever sat this close to someone before? Ferdinand could not recall if he did. 

“Where are we?” He asked, his head falling against Hubert's shoulder. 

“I’m not sure it has a name.” Hubert admitted, and to Ferdinand's delight, he rested his head on Ferdinands. “Though, seeing as I am here, I doubt it's heaven.”

Ferdinand laughed, a pang of bittersweet joy spreading through his chest. “You are terrible...” 

A heavy silence fell between them. It was broken by the sound of a dog, barking in the near distance. Ferdinand sat up, at first unsure he had heard correctly. Then he saw a dog bounding across the garden, an Aegir hound with a light blue collar. 

“Winnie?” He mouthed, eyes wide in surprise. The dog made a beeline for them and Ferdinand yelped as she jumped up into his lap, licking his face with unbridled joy. Ferdinand giggled and showered the dog in affection, cooing over her and petting her behind the eats. Her tail thwapped against Hubert's face, and with a growl, he quickly ushered the animal to get off the couch. 

“Ha! Sorry about that, “Ferdinand grinned, reaching down to administer the best of all belly rubs. Winnie was, of course, pleased as punch. 

Though it was wonderful to reunite with her, the fact that Winnie was here proved to Ferdinand that this was not an illusion caused by a spell. This was all a dream. A perfect, fabricated world of his own making. 

As if sensing his shifting mood, Hubert reached out and held his hand once more. Ferdinand looked down and saw he was no longer wearing his wedding band.

“None of this is real.” He whispered. 

Hubert nodded, smoothing his thumb over the back of Ferdinand’s hand. 

“Winnie died when I was 17.” He continued, slowly withdrawing his hand from her fur. “Just after I enrolled. My father did not even tell me.” 

“Mhm.” Hubert let go of his hand and instead wrapped his arm around Ferdinand's shoulder. Ferdinand leaned into him, sitting back in the seat. At the loss of his attention, Winnie looked up at him curiously, then huffed and curled up at her master's feet. 

The garden was perfect. The sounds of birds singing their sweet songs, the sound of leaves rustling in the trees. A bubbling fountain, the rays of sunshine casting all of it in a warm glow. 

Perfect. 

Artificial. 

“Why didn't you send those letters, Hubert?” 

“Does that really matter? Will knowing the reason change anything?”

Ferdinand gave a bitter and disdainful laugh. “Ah, of course, you would say that. Ever the realist, always so logical.” He regretted the biting tone, but it didn’t seem to affect Hubert one way or the other. He just looked away - staring out in the middle distance. 

He continued a wistful smile on his lips. “I suppose even if you wanted to, you could not tell me. You only know as much as I do, and the rest is just my subconscious doing the best with what it can. “

Hubert chuckled, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Very astute of you.” 

That smirk. Ferdinand had missed seeing it. He worried his lip, his eyes falling to look at the ground. There was no trace of the coffee cup, nor the coffee. Nothing was permanent. It could all be changed with just a thought. If nothing was real, then Hubert was right. It didn’t matter. 

Ferdinand released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It left him as a shuddering sigh.

“What do we do now.”

“You have one more letter to read.” Hubert said, turning to look at him. 

“Ah, that’s right.” Ferdinand felt a tear roll down his face, his face hot as sadness settled in his heart. He reached for his handkerchief, but it was nowhere to be found. After rifling through his pockets, he was surprised to see Hubert offering his out to him. 

“Oh, thank you.” He smiled, blushing, graciously accepted it. Ferdinand dried his face, though the tears didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. 

“The sun is starting to set.” 

No sooner had Hubert spoken, the sun had settled in the sky and painted the garden in rays of orange and red. Ferdinand took a deep breath, sighing as he saw the shadows around them. As if the world was speeding up around them, the remaining sunlight was swallowed by the night. Above them, the stars shone brightly, like jewels. 

Now they both sat with their backs against a dying oak tree. Winnie was gone. The garden too. 

Ferdinand stared up at the sky, just looking at the stars above. 

“Did- ‘ Ferdinand started, then paused to draw a shaky breath. The smell of blood had begun to fill the air. “Did you see them? The stars... before you died?” 

“Yes.” Hubert said, though his voice was weak and hoarse. His breathing was ragged and each breath was wet like he had water in his lungs. Ferdinand didn’t dare to look. He simply reached over and rested his hands over Hubert’s. 

“Good,” With a small smile, he closed his eyes, listening to the wind as it traveled through the wood. 

\-----

\----

\--

-

When he woke the sun was peeking over the buildings, its rays falling over the desk. Bleary-eyed, he sat up, his face clammy from sleeping against a wet pillow all night. The papers had fallen over the side of the bed in his sleep. After carefully gathering them all, he left them in a stack on the desk, picking up the final letter - exactly where he had left it. 

There were no more tears to be shed. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Ferdinand sat down at the desk and read. 

~~~

_My Dearest, Ferdinand_

_There is no doubt in my mind that you are quite upset with me right now. As I write this I imagine your red face, your furrowed brow. Perhaps your lip is sore from abuse you rain down on it. You worry your lower lip when you’re frustrated, I’ve noticed._

_Any scorn towards me is well deserved, of course. I have left you with the horrible gift._

_There were many opportunities where I could have given you even one of those letters. Yet each time I considered it, I was left with a terrible fear of being known. At first, it was my pride. If you knew how often I had started to praise you in my mind, I feared you would become insufferable. Only twisted men think that affection is a sign of weakness. Sadly, I came to learn that far too late._

_Then, as you have read for yourself, I found myself falling in love with you. Again, I avoided facing these feelings head-on. Instead, I poured them all out onto paper._

_I found it easier to write to someone rather than to write to no one, as one does with a diary._

_And all would be well if I had kept them a secret. No one benefits from these writings. Yet as I considered the possibility of an unexpected death, I could not chase away the regret I would feel if you did not know their contents._

_I am selfish._

_I am terrified._

_I am a coward._

_Nothing could be worse than the feeling of dread that comes just after confessing your love. That moment where you can’t quite read their expression, and there is no indication how they will respond._

_I know that feeling well. I watched as my confession fell upon her ears, and felt the shame as she responded with a laugh. Nothing was the same after that. We both felt it but never spoke of it again._

_To experience such a thing with you, my dear friend…_

_My jewel._

_I would fall apart._

_So, with that being said, I do hope that someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Though my actions are cowardly, and selfish, and cruel… I still would like to ask you not to hate me forever._

_As I write this final letter, I recall a legend I heard many years ago. I must warn you, it is terribly cliche. I have done my research into its validity, but I could not find evidence one way or the other._

_Once there were two people who were destined for each other. However, on the day they were to be married, war was declared. They parted, promising to marry as soon as peace was restored._

_Only one of them lived to see that peace._

_Overwhelmed with grief, the survivor pleaded to the gods of time and begged for another chance to live life happily with the love of their life._

_Touched by their pure love, the gods allowed them to be reborn. But as so many legends go, their kindness came with a price._

_They could not choose their form, nor the time of their rebirth. Over the centuries the star-crossed lovers would meet - but would be unable to truly live life as they wanted. A bird and a tree, a king and a peasant. Two soldiers on opposing sides._

_Still, their love was so strong that they were determined to come back again and again until they finally were able to live together happily._

_I wondered if it would be so wrong to hope for the same treatment. I am by no means a religious man. But I am human, and when humans are desperate we turn to anyone who we think may be listening._

_So, while I do not know your feelings, I wanted to make mine known on the off chance that they might align with yours._

_Next time around, I would like to meet you again under a pale moon. In a garden of red roses. Only time will tell if my prayers will be answered._

_Till that day comes,_

_Yours,_

_Hubert_

~~~

Ferdinand held the letter close to his chest, turning his chair to look around the room of the man he grew to love far too late. He folded the letter, then raised the parchment to his lips, pressing a kiss to Hubert’s name. With a sigh he let his eyes close, and thought of the garden and the moon overhead. 


End file.
